Letters To Tommy
by David N. Brown
Summary: Tiffany takes her turn writing letters, only this time, the address is beyond the grave.
1. Mail therapy

**I'm a longtime contributor to , and have been considering experimenting with a "straight" romance. After seeing Silver Linings" and especially reading the book, I came up with an idea to try out. I have rather mixed feelings about the film, mainly because I'm involved in advocacy related to mental health and I'm still not sure if the storyline was intended to be as hair-raising as I found it to be, but I was quite impressed with the book. This fan fic is intended to be a mix of elements from both, and discusses a real therapy I believe may have influenced the story. The "backstory" offered here is simply the kind of outcome that came to my mind watching the film.**

Pat Peoples sat in the black leather chair in Dr. Cliff Patel's office. He always preferred the brown one, because it was more positive, but he had been happy to relinquish it to Tiffany, his wife of almost one and a half years. They had their chairs scooched together so they could hold hands. Tiff had her other hand on a bulge in her midriff. Dr. Patel sat across from Pat, but he was there primarily to observe. The leader for their session was Tiff's therapist, Dr. Esther Lily, who made Pat think of the heroine of Sylvia Plath's depressing novel.

"Tiffany has told me a great deal about you, Pat," Dr. Lily said. "Dr. Patel has also consulted with me about your case, especially as the two of you have become more involved. In the interest of forthrightness, I must say at the start, Patrick, that I do not share your belief in `happy endings'. From my experience and perspective, for those in your position, there are only stories that have ended badly, and those with bad endings still waiting to happen. The endings I can foresee for you- both of you- are worse than most.

"As matters presently stand, you have both come very close to facing criminal charges on account of each other. Tiffany's offer to place you in contact with your ex-wife, even absent any intention to carry out the bargain in truth, easily qualified as soliciting an illegal act. Her deception was clearly a factor in your final attempt to contact Nikki directly, which placed yourself and others in danger. The only reason you were not prosecuted immediately and to the full extent of the law was because the prosecutor's office was more interested in the possibility of charging Tiffany for your misconduct. In the meantime, certain members of both your families petitioned for legal orders prohibiting the two of you from having any contact with each other. In all likelihood, the only reason none of these developments materialized was that I accepted full responsibility for giving Tiffany the idea."

Pat straightened up. "Wait... What, you said I should write to Nikki?"

Dr. Lily frowned. "Yes, and emphatically no," she said. "I suggested that she talk to you about an exercise we had performed as part of her therapy. She was convinced, and I will not say she was wrong, that you would be unwilling to accept the intended parameters of the activity."

Tiffany stroked Pat's hand. "It's like this. If there's someone in your past who hurt you, and you really want to say something even if you can't and shouldn't, then you put it in a letter instead. You aren't supposed to send it to the real person, or even imagine sending it for real. You do it for yourself, for closure, and just to get it out of your system. When I did it, it was to the drunk who killed Tommy. I did a bunch, and Dr. Lily and I read them all together. When she decided I had come far enough, we burned them all. It helped me get out of a _really_ bad place, and we both thought it could work for you if you would try it. The problem was how to get you to do it, when you couldn't get over the idea of seeing Nikki in person. I hoped, if I could just get you writing, it would help you start to move on."

Pat looked into her teary eyes. "It did. It really did."

Dr. Patel spoke: "We discussed your family planning together, evidently more than Tiffany did with Dr. Lily. I stand by what I told you: Your experiences helping Ronnie and Veronica take care of Emily show that you are more than fit as a parent. You have also waited a reasonable amount of time, which was impressive after the short time you waited to remarry. For the most part, Tiffany has shown herself to be capable. However, there have been certain episodes that clearly present cause for concern."

"I get headaches; so what?" Tiffany said. "I can't help it if a crying baby is one of the things that sets them off."

"We already discussed this, often," Dr. Lily said. "Your headaches are stress-induced migraines. If one particular stimulus has triggered them on multiple occasions, it is a clear indication of an underlying psychiatric problem. I believe that it is related to your feelings about not having children with your first husband. It would appear that these issues are not yet resolved, and the life changes you are going through will certainly make matters worse. What you need is further therapeutic intervention."

"Yeah? So what do I do now?" Tiff said. "Write a letter that won't get delivered to a drunk-driving paralegal."

"No, you have done quite enough with that," Dr. Lily said. "I would remind you that I have repeatedly advised you to discuss the contents of those letters with your husband. In any event, this is not solely an issue of grieving, but one which arose well before Tommy's death. Any therapy should be directed accordingly."

"What does that mean?" Tiff said.

"I think," Pat guessed, "that they want you to try writing to Tommy."


	2. The Letter

**Here's the second chapter of this piece, which I am close to completing at this point. One thing I'll say at this point is that I found Pat as portrayed in the novel to be less intelligent than in the film, and my take is to play up the "slow" angle. For writing his lines, I have stuck pretty close to what I would do for a long-running original character who is possibly even more prone to misguided optimism.**

Dear Tommy,

I can't believe I let Pat talk me into this. He's my new husband, we've known each other two years now, and I'll tell you more about him. The kicker is, he offered to deliver it. I'm sure he's going to read it. I just hope he doesn't pretend to be you writing back. Forgery's hard, I would know. I didn't do it well, and he still fell for it. My biggest problem with this is, I never felt sure about the afterlife, and I always figured, if there's anything at all on the other side, why would the people there give a rat's cock what we want to say back here? Still, I think I can manage pretending.

If there's anything I want to say, it's that I still miss you SO MUCH. Pat is wonderful, and there are times when I feel happier with him than I did with you. Lately, I don't even feel guilty thinking it. There are so many good things I do with him that we never did. Dancing, which I took up in place of our old self-defense training. Babysitting Veronica's baby girl Emily. Watching clouds. I have even gone to a couple Eagles games. We would never have done all of that, and we weren't doing much of anything toward the end, were we? But mostly, he and you are just different. No matter how much good Pat does for me, he could never give me everything you did, any more than you could have given me everything he does. It's apples and oranges, I guess. Or, I can't help thinking of something cheesy Pat says all the time, _Alien_ and _Aliens_, which to him means two things that are really good but too different to say which is better. Goddammit, it works.

One thing about me and Pat is, he's pretty old-fashioned and a little inhibited about making love. For one thing, he always calls it love-making. Also, he wouldn't do anything until we were married; he said it's what the Bible says, and it would make things special for me. It did, too, though we didn't wait very long. He's still pretty shy. We don't touch each other casually a lot, because he's very sensitive. When he tries to start, he comes to me and says things like, "I want to," or "Do you want to?", and I'll tease him, "Want to what, Pat? Want to _what?_" We also set quite a few boundaries. We don't do things that have significance from our previous marriages, which for me includes anything in the dining room. We also don't make love after fights. At first, we actually tried that after _every_ fight, and we had to quit because we ended up fighting too much. Now, one of us will just say, "Apart time," and then we stop talking for a while, and we don't do anything physical through the night. It might sound weird, especially for me, but there's an equilibrium you and I never got to, and I like it.

Another thing about Pat is that he loves kids, and they love him. He adores Emily, and that was enough to convince him he wanted some for himself, even before he wanted me. I talked him into keeping that off the table till our first anniversary, and made out like I needed the time to think about it, but there was never any doubt in my mind what I wanted. Now I'm finally going to be a mother, and I'm very happy about it. I'm taking good care of myself for the baby, and for Pat, I'm even trying to give up the f-word, though I think it's effin' ridiculous. I would like to think we would have gotten here, if we'd had the time. But the fact is, I _did_ think about it a lot, and I just couldn't ever see you rising to the occasion. You were great at being buddies with the high school kids, and I suppose that was what got you thinking about it. But we both knew it would take a lot more than that to raise our own kids. Now, I can see that's the real reason I kept saying no.

It helps to be able to think about these things now, but it doesn't really fix how I feel. I still remember the last morning, I can't help thinking of it as our last fight, even if we didn't raise our voices. I still see you, every day, not even getting mad, but just looking sadder and sadder, and so quiet I can't even tell if you're registering what I'm saying. That memory still tears my heart out, more than being told you were dying, even more than when your buddies stopped me from seeing you. I can't stop thinking, you died believing I was never going to give you a son, and maybe didn't even want you anymore. I can't help feeling, it's my fault you're gone, and if there's anywhere to go, you must hate me.

If you're there, I'm sorry for laying this on you, but it's what I feel and I need to say it. And I guess I need to apologize for what I said at the start. I don't know what happens over there, but I know you. You always cared about me, you always cared about people period, and _nothing_ could _ever_ change that. So if you're out there at all, I know you still care, and you want the best for me. That's why I'm doing this, for you and for me.

Love always,

Tiffy


	3. The Equivocal Ending

Pat and Tiffany were in another session together, but this time Cliff was presiding alone. "So, Patrick," he said, "did you do your assignment?"

Pat nodded and smiled. "What?" said Tiffany suspiciously. "What was your assignment?"

"Actually, we did it together," Pat said. "Remember, the movie?"

"Oh my effin' god," Tiff said, "you told him to watch _The Thing_? That's a horrible movie! I don't mean horrifying, either, just horrible!"

"The film is suited to certain tastes, and I would not have recommended it for you," Cliff said. "But for Pat, I felt it would be in line with his interests, while offering a little more substance. What did you think of the film, Pat?"

"Oh, it was a great movie," he answered enthusiastically. "Kurt Russell was great, everybody else was great, and the monster was great. But what I really liked was that it had a good message. At first, they're so afraid, and all the Thing has to do to win is trick them into fighting each other. But when they start working together, and trusting each other, they find a way to beat the Thing."

"Yeah, and they still all effin' die!" Tiffany interjected.

"No they don't," Pat said. "Kurt's still alive at the end, and that cool black guy, just sitting by the fire being friends again. That was a happy ending. All good movies have happy endings."

"Did we watch the same movie? They're in Antarctica, and the fire's their blown-up base! What do you think was supposed to happen after that? The fire goes out, and they freeze to death, assuming one of them isn't a Thing, the effin' end!"

"The ending was meant to be ambiguous, which is why I considered the film good for Pat to watch," Cliff said. "If you were telling the story, Pat, what would you say happens?"

"Well, people from some other base could have come to help when they saw the fires," Pat said. "That would be a great happy ending. But… I don't think I would tell it like that. The way it does end, they know there's a chance somebody could come to save them. But, like Kurt says, maybe it's better if they don't get out, because then there's no way the Thing can get out. So, instead of being afraid or fighting, they sit down and wait for whatever happens next, because they know it will work out for the best. It's not my idea of a happy ending, but maybe it's the best ending."

"I do believe you are improving, Pat," Cliff said. "What about you, Tiffany? Dr. Lily says you told her you wrote the letter, but have not shared it with her. She does not wish you to feel that you have to share it with her, but you gave her the impression that you were being evasive."

"I did write the letter," Tiffany said. "What I didn't tell her is, I gave it to Pat."

"I see," Cliff said. "Pat, have you read it?"

Pat shrugged. "No. It's wrong to read other people's mail."

"I see. I trust, then, that you have taken care to hold the letter for safekeeping, as you should. That will be enough for today's session."

As they left, Tiffany said, "Okay, I didn't say anything," she said. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a paper rectangle. "Still, I have to say, this is insulting."

It was an unopened envelope, marked: _To Tiffany. From Tommy._


	4. Reply Mail

Dearest Tiffany,

I was deeply moved that you wrote your letter to me, and I was able to make arrangements to write back. I regret that I will not be able to tell you about where I am now. It seems that there are certain rules about how much we can say, and it is very hard to explain things. It seems to me it would be better for you to ask you to trust that it is a good place. The fact that you would write to me is a good sign that you are already on the way there.

I feel that, if this correspondence is to continue, it would be best if you did not say too much about Pat, especially the details of your physical relationship. Again, rules. That said, I am very happy for you, and for him, and especially for your coming little one. Believe me when I say you will all make each other very happy, more than I could have.

The most important thing I want you to know is that when we come over here, we do not forget, or stop caring. The only thing we lose is the things that stop people from seeing things clearly over there. There is no more anger or hate over here. We can still be sad, but it's only a good kind of sadness. When you blame yourself for what you did or didn't do on that day, that is the bad kind of sadness, and I wish nothing more than to see you free of it. The good sadness is how you feel when you wish something had happened differently, but at the same time you know it really couldn't have and wouldn't have made a difference. That is what we have over here, and that is how I feel about the day I died.

What happened that day wasn't about what happened that morning. It was about what had been happening for weeks, and months, and years. You wouldn't have said what you did if we hadn't already had problems, and I wouldn't have did what I did if you hadn't said a lot that I already knew. I was sorry even then for leaving without saying something, but I could see even then that the only good thing to do was go to work and give you time to think, the way I always did when we had trouble. If I had had any better ideas, then maybe we would not have had the problems we did. Then again, maybe you would have gotten sick of me and walked out by our first anniversary. Even over here, you can never be sure what could have been.

I am sorry that the memory of my friends keeping you out of my room has caused you pain. Please do not hold it against them. If you had seen me then, you would not have seen the man you married. I couldn't talk, I could hardly move, I could hardly think, but when Jonny said, "Tiffy's coming!" I did enough for everyone to know what to do. After that morning, I could not let my pain add to yours.

Since I'm bending the rules as it is, I can't promise I can keep writing to you. Please wait to write again until you are sure it will help you. If I am able to write back, wait to read it.

With more love than you can know,

Tommy

PS. I always knew you hated it when we called you "Tiffy". Please don't start trying to fool me now.

Tiffany thrust the letter in Pat's face. "You wrote this, didn't you?" she accused.

"No I didn't," Pat said, averting his eyes. "It's typed."

"What did you do, talk to Tommy's old buddies at the station?" Tiffany continued. Pat responded by closing his eyes and humming. "Don't play dumb with me, I know how you write letters, and by the way, you su-" She took one more look at the letter. "You didn't write this. There's no way you _could_ write this."

"I wouldn't know," Pat said as he walked away. "I haven't read it."

**An after note: This chapter reflects a lot of my personal philosophy and approach to writing and characters. I have always especially been attracted to the idea that people, for better or worse, don't really change with their situations, but only show themselves by how they react, which is certainly a very different outlook from Pat's. If this seems a bit darker, the rest of the story (which I have finished and plan to "lock down" at this point) pushes things a lot further. I also have to admit, for all my griping about whether the SLP movie takes mental illness seriously enough, that I enjoyed writing it that way. I suppose there are a lot of things that I don't mind being open or even laughing about because it feels close enough to me.**


	5. The Better Ending

It was another joint session, this time with Dr. Lily. "I understand Dr. Patel has recommended Pat watch movies as a form of therapy," the therapist said. Tiffany rolled her eyes. "I believe this is a very good idea. Tiffany, you should participate, and discuss films with him. Patel tells me you declined to watch _Casablanca_, which I would consider to your tastes."

"_Casablanca_'s the most overrated film ever," Tiffany said. "I mean, it's okay, and maybe good for its time, but c'mon, the only reason guys watch it is because they think it will sweeten up their girlfriends, and the only reason their girlfriends watch it is to humor the guys."

"_Casablanca_'s a good movie," Pat said. "It has a happy ending."

"Really?" said Dr. Lily. "So you don't think it was bad that Rick sent Ilsa away?"

"It made them sad, but Ilsa was married," Pat said. "Rick showed her that it wasn't right to leave her marriage, which is good. So it's a happy ending. All good movies have happy endings."

"Excuse me, I have something to say," Tiffany said. "He's already made me sit through every supposed feel-good eighties guy movie he can get his hands on, including the ones made in the seventies, and I have a question. Pat, you keep telling me they're all good because they have `happy endings'. So, what would you say are the best Rocky movie, the best Star Wars movie and the best Star Trek movie?"

Pat answered without hesitation: "The first _Rocky_, _Empire Strikes Back_, and _Wrath of Kahn_."

"All right, then… How do those movies end?" Tiffany asked rhetorically. "Rocky loses. Darth Vader wins. Spock_ effin'_ dies. Where's the happy endings there? The screen writers might as well have come out and said, `Life sucks, and death bites!'"

Pat gave her a look she hated, a little sad but mostly confused. Then something strange and strong seemed to rise to the surface. "But that's missing the point!" he said with his usual fervor and a hint of uncharacteristic eloquence. "Sure, the bad things happen, but there's good too, and even the bad isn't as bad as it could be. Rocky can't beat Apollo Creed, but he keeps getting up, and in the end, the people cheer for him because he didn't give up. The Rebels can't take on Darth Vader. He has that great big ship, without a weak spot like the Death Star, and all those destroyers that are still huge, and the walkers, the TIE fighters, and Boba Fett. The best they can do is run, and even then the Empire catches up to them, all because what Vader really cares about is bringing Luke to the Dark Side. But then, when his super ship is bearing down on the _Falcon_, he loses the one thing that matters, all because little R2D2 fixes the hyperdrive! And Spock, he saves the _Enterprise_, and then Captain Kirk sees how much he really cared about everyone, even if he seemed like he was all cold and logical. That's why the movies are so good: They make you look for the silver lining."

Oh my god, Tiffany thought as she looked into Pat's eyes, he really believes it.

"You have a good point," Dr. Lily said. "The stories which make the greatest emotional impact are those where the outcome is mixed. The protagonists, and through them the audience, are forced to face hardship, loss and inadequacy, but they are able to endure nobly, and win enough small victories to hope to do better another day."

"Right!" Pat said. "Like when the Rebels win in _Return of the Jedi_, or when Spock comes back to life in Trek III. Though _Jedi_ wasn't as good, and _Search for Spock_ kinda stunk. But that was okay, because _Voyage Home_ had the whales, and that one was almost as good as _Kahn_. The good Treks were always even numbers. Until _Nemesis_; that was even and it still really stunk."

"I believe you are showing improvement and maturity," Dr. Lily said at the conclusion of the session. "I would like to assign you another movie to watch together."

It was _Pet Semetary_.

As the credits rolled and the Ramones played the title song, Pat was in tears. Normally, Tiffany would have teased him, but this was clearly a bit much. "What is it? Is it too much?" she queried. He shook his head back and forth.

"It's just- so sad!" he blubbered. "I mean, the guy loses his baby boy, and that's terrible, but he still has his wife, and their little girl, and his best friend. But instead of loving the people he has left, all he thinks about is bringing his son back to life, even when he should know the cemetery is bad. Then he does lose everything, and he makes all the people who love him suffer, and he still hasn't learned!"

Tiffany cupped his head in her hands and lifted his eyes to hers. "It's not a happy ending kind of story, it's a lesson kind of story, like we talked about."

"Then what's the lesson? He loses his family, and his friend, and it's not because he did anything wrong, it's just that he couldn't let go of someone he loved!" Tiffany's gaze became a little more intent. "And… I was him. Right?"

Tiffany smiled. "See, even sad endings can be good."

As they hustled to bed, Pat paused to riffle through the novel. "Hey, look, in the book, Dr. Creed doesn't die," he said, pointing to the last page. "The book doesn't say he dies."

Tiffany took a look. "All right, so, if we go by the end of the book, then it looks like either he's about to die, or he's going to spend the night with a walking corpse."

"Oh. That doesn't sound good, either."

"Yeah," Tiffany said, "maybe dead_ is_ better." Pat happily threw the book aside and reached for Tiffany, but a troubled look crossed her face as she reached for the light.

**This is the halfway point for this story. Incidentally, I would not call myself a fan of Stephen King, but I consider ****_Pet Semetary_**** and ****_Rose Madder_**** to be the best of his novels that I have read, and I like the film version of the former better than any other adaptation of his work I have seen. (Yes, I am knocking Kubrick.) The last paragraph or so of this chapter was a last addition before posting (must... stop... revising...) and represents a capsule of my idea for a fan fic. If anybody wants it, you can have it.**


	6. Dead Letter

After Pat was very sound asleep, Tiffany ventured back to the dining room. She sat down at the dining room table she had kept with her since Tommy, though it was much too big for the space in the guest house. She slapped a piece of paper and began to scrawl half-legible and mostly unprintable comments to the author of the epistle Pat had delivered. The pencil lead snapped twice before she had finished half a page, which was when she gouged right through the paper. For a moment, she lifted the paper and stared with a look approaching horror at the gray mark on the table. She quickly applied a little spit, and the mark quickly faded. She placed her hands flat on the table and took long, deep breaths for several minutes. Then she took out a piece of paper and a pen, and began to write:

Tommy,

When I received a letter in your name, there were moments when my heart lifted. There were many things I could believe you would say, and I needed to hear very much. Then I read things I did not know, and you would, which I later verified. I know Pat didn't do it himself, I don't know who did, and at this point, I don't really care. All I want to say is, whatever is going on here, _it must stop_. It makes sense that there would be rules against people over there talking to people over here. I can say from experience, it is _not_ a nice experience to feel like we're talking, even if I don't believe it is really you. If this was someone's idea of payback for tricking Pat, then fine, mission accomplished. _Enough._

But, it's not. Pat and I watched _Pet Semetary_ tonight, and it actually made him cry because he felt for the guy so much. I just thought he was an idiot, but I am the same way. As long as this line is open, I cannot bring myself to let it go. I keep wanting to talk to you, Tommy, even though I know it will hurt me and I know you are not really there. So I am going to pretend one more time, and say something nobody else but my therapist knows. Tommy, you know how good I was at self-defense training. I have not done a proper work-out in more than a year, though I have tried practicing basic moves with Pat. All he has learned is that I can wipe the floor with him. Sometimes, he asks me why I gave the training up. At first, I told him the same thing I told my friends, because it brought back too many memories, which was true enough. Later, I said that all the kicks and punches bring out too much negative emotion, which was getting close. What I have never told anyone is that I was scared of what I wanted to do.

Tommy, the drunk who killed you is still out there. They caught him, but he wasn't just rich enough to pay for a good defense, he was a high-powered lawyer himself. He was caught stone cold, but he got a breathalyzer test thrown out, he made the witnesses' testimony looked like a telephone game, and he even had the balls to say you were careless for standing too far from the side of the road! In the end, he pled out to a year, and got out for good behavior in six months. Good behavior, after he never even slowed down! That was when I really went into a downward spiral. I wanted you back, and I had already done a lot of bad things just so I could close my eyes and pretend I was with you again. But when Jonny told me he was out, it all came down. If the man who killed you was back on the streets, then you were gone and never coming back. I got so twisted around, I felt like there was only one thing to do. I found where he lived and worked, mostly from your friends. Then I started thinking what to do. Later, I wrote it down in letters addressed to him, that only my therapist ever saw.

I wrote to him that I was going to kill him. I was not just going to kill him, I was going to do everything to his body that his car did to you with nothing but my own hands and feet. I was going to make every second he was dying seemed like hours, and it was going to take hours. I wrote out exactly how I was going to do it, one compound fracture at a time. I told him that was going to be for what he did to you. But first, for what he did to me, for taking you from me, for taking away the chance to give you a son, I was going to have to do something much worse, so terrible even I hated it, but I would do it just the same.

I was going to kill his kid, right in front of him.

Tommy, wherever you are, please forgive me for wanting to do this for you. And someone, anyone, please help me, because I am afraid. The baby will be here any day, and I am getting more headaches. The headaches make me want to kick and punch again, and sometimes I catch myself wanting the headaches. I am afraid I am really going to hurt someone. If it ever came to that, Pat could never defend himself against me. I doubt if he could ever match me, but when I try to get him to practice with me, he will not even try. Sometimes, all he does is stand there and let me rough him up. He is actually _happy_ knowing he would not stand a chance, because he hurt someone in one of his own episodes, and he is afraid of hurting me. It does not seem to register that I might try to hurt him, and the baby too.

The one time I tried to tell him this, he said something that scares me even more. I told him I could have an episode of my own, and he smiled and said, "If anything happens, I take the blame. The worst they will do to me is send me back to the bad place."

I said to him, "But you said you would rather be dead than back there."

He said, "I would rather go there than hurt you."

I am so afraid. I feel so alone. Someone, anyone, please help.

Tiffany

At 2 AM, Patrick came out and found his wife slumped across the table. One hand clutched a sealed envelope.


	7. The Bad Ending

More than twenty people came over for Pat and Tiffany's second anniversary party, held in the downstairs dance studio. It doubled as an opportunity to display their baby girl, Mary Jasmine. Pat Sr threatened to monopolize MJ, but her grandmother made sure she was passed around equitably, to Danny, Ronnie, and even Emily, who was not that little anymore.

"You look like an angel," the elder Pat said as he took back MJ. In the corner of his eye, he made sure Tiffany was in earshot. "Just like your mother…"

"She looks like Patrick Stewart," Pat said. "They all look like little Patrick Stewarts."

The party went from lunchtime well into the evening. MJ was retired to bed long before the end, and Tiffany made frequent trips upstairs to look in on her. The party dispersed when Tiffany came down and said, "Thanks to all of you for coming. Please go now."

Danny and Ronnie stayed long enough to help Pat clean up. Tiffany disappeared back upstairs. When Pat heard MJ start to cry, he thanked them both and showed them out. He went quietly up the stairs, listening carefully. Tiffany was talking to the baby; no, she was shouting. By the time he jogged to the bedroom door, she was screaming, "SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT THE-"

She fell abruptly silent as the door opened. MJ grew a little quieter. Tiffany was holding the baby at arms' length. It looked like MJ was shaking, but it was only the trembling of her mother's hands. Pat scooped the baby from her hands and soon soothed her. Tiffany retreated to the kitchen.

Pat followed shortly. Without looking up, Tiffany pushed back a chair, and Pat knew immediately that it was not an invitation to sit. When Tiffany looked over her shoulder, she saw MJ still in his arms. "Apart time," he said with a shake of his head, and retreated to the baby's room. When he emerged some time later empty-handed, Tiffany was waiting.

The pair stood at arm's length on their dance floor. Tiffany raised both hands, and Pat took hold of her below the wrists. "I'm Rocky," he said.

"I'm Nikki," she answered. When there was no sign of anger in his face, she slapped him, without quite pulling free of his grip. She did it again and again, swearing hoarsely. He held his pose, even when she punched him in place of a slap. "So you're Rocky? Then hiit mee!" She punched twice more, and then gave him a high kick right in the chin. Patrick dropped straight to the padded floor.

"So I'm not Nikki," Tiffany said, stepping astride her husband. "I'm much worse. I'm the psycho sailormouth slut who learned hand-to-hand from a cop and gets homicidal impulses when she has a headache, and _you married me, you crazy stupid bastard!_ You said till death do us part, and now I'm going to kill you, and then I'm going upstairs to our sweet baby girl and _WHAT DO YOU THINK HAPPENS AFTER THAT?_"

Pat swept her off her feet with a roundhouse kick. "I never hit Nikki, even when I was ready to kill for what she did, and I'm never going to hit you," he said, pinning her against the mat. "I'm Luke Skywalker. I won't fight you. I won't let myself go to the Dark Side."

"Then you are going to die!" Tiffany snarled. She struggled to extricate herself, but wasn't making headway. He actually had her quite thoroughly pinned, with his legs wrapped tightly round hers. "You found one good move, but you can't hold it forever. This is real. _Life is not a movie!_"

"My life is my movie, and as long as I make my own choices, it's my script," he said. "Now listen to me. You got mad at Mary Jasmine, and scared her, and that's bad. But you didn't hurt her, and you didn't try to. Even with your migraine going full blast, you didn't so much as shake her. As far as I'm concerned, that means you aren't going to hurt her."

She stopped struggling, and after a while, she embraced him and kissed his chest. He firmly pushed her away. "It's apart time. We need apart time, or we could start enjoying this too much again. Love you." They kissed chastely, and then Pat went to a prop closet and pulled out a sleeping bag, while Tiffany ran upstairs.

She threw open one drawer after another, until she found what she wanted under strata of bills and receipts. It was a sealed envelope, marked, "To Tiffany, from Tommy. Open when needed."


	8. Return to Sender

**I was planning on holding to this a little longer, but I decided it would be worth posting again today. Incidentally, I have tried to do a little at this point to harmonize the film and the book at this point, and I also decided I should let Tiffany be herself a little. There will be more tomorrow, and a little extra for later...**

Tiffany,

I am very sorry you were upset by my previous letter. This one will be the last. Yes, there are rules for a reason, and those who break them often regret it. If that is the only thing you learn, it will be enough to make our correspondence worthwhile.

I am very sad that you felt that my death would justify murder. But you must not dwell on regret. Just by talking about it with your therapist and now with me, you have freed yourself. Remember that, even in your darkest hours, you gave up that path, simply because you knew it was wrong. Do you think you cannot do the same, when you are so much better and have so much more to lose- and not just you, but your new family, too?

I cannot say much more, though there is so much I would like to. I always loved you, Tiffany. I still do, and always will. And remember why you loved me: Because I was the kind of husband who would go off work early just to get a gift for my wife. Because I was the kind of cop who would stand beside a car to keep a stranded old lady company, even after the brass threatened to reprimand me if I kept putting myself in the way of traffic. If, on that day, I had simply did my time and made the straight shot home, it would have been worse than anything that happened to me, because I would have known I chose not to be the man you fell in love with, your boy who would rent _Casablanca_ without a date just to talk to the cute girl at the counter_,_ and I would have known you knew it too.

Now, I am afraid I must tell you to do something that will be hard, even if it seems easy now. You must give these letters to Pat, and tell him to return them. He will know what to do. The words we have exchanged were not meant to be said in this world, and this is the only way to balance things out.

However, there is one thing you may keep, if you accept a mission. There will be a second piece of paper in this envelope, only a scrap, with an address. You may keep it, and when you are ready, go to where it tells you. Do not try to learn what is there, or find some reason why you are being sent. Only go, knock on the door, and say that a friend of Tommy Wheeler sent you.

Always and forever, your Bogie,

Tommy

PS. I beg you, please, _buy a new dinner table_. Ours is too big for your place, and we put it through enough.

Tiffany stared at the letter. Then she went tearing through the closets. Finally she found what she wanted, in a paperback mystery at the bottom of a box in the furthest corner of the dustiest storeroom. It was a receipt for a video rental, covered by protective lamination that was itself worn and peeling. On it was written in pen the name her maiden name and her parents' phone number. She looked more closely at the badly faded thermal printing. There was a date circled in pen, and _just_ legible.

It was ten years to the day from the day Tommy died.

Tiffany's scream rang through the house.

She crouched at the table, clutching at the familiar reality of the wood while she stared alternately at the letter and the receipt. "It was our anniversary," she said aloud. "Not our wedding anniversary, but the anniversary of the day we met. _Of course,_ Tommy always remembered, and he _always_ had to remind me. He would bring me these nice gifts, and I would say, What's this for, Tommy? And then he would tell me, and even show me this receipt… He planned to go to the mall all along. It was our tenth anniversary… Oh my god… Did he think I started the talk that morning because_ I_ finally remembered?" She threw back her head and screamed again, this time in a cry to the heavens: "WHAT THE FUCK?! _WHO THE FUCK IS DOING THIS AND WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TRYING TO DO TO ME?_"

She wanted to collapse in sobs. She wanted to go downstairs and make love to Pat, or kill him, or preferably both. She wanted to go to the medicine cabinet and take all the pills.

Instead, she fished in the envelope and pulled out a scrap of paper.


	9. The Open Door

Tiffany was out for her morning run, with MJ bouncing happily in her carrier in front. Pat was at work at the grocery store. It was a spontaneous whim that made her turn down the street, yet somehow it felt like the hand of fate. She slowed to a jog and then a brisk walk, partly because of the distance and partly because MJ had already grown quite a bit. The streets became narrower, the sidewalks cracked and buckled, and the houses small and run-down. It occurred to her that if certain people knew about her being here with MJ, they might make a child endangerment complaint. She would not have gone anywhere near this neighborhood after dark, and even in daylight she was more than a little nervous, especially with MJ along. Yet, it was MJ that gave her the confidence to keep going. After all, Danny always said that even the hard-core gangsters would never mess with a kid, and they would go hard core on any thug who did.

Finally, she came to the address. It was in a tucked-away stretch where the houses were old but generally well-maintained. This house, however, had filthy windows and a massively overgrown lawn. Several days of newspapers lay on the porch, and a mailbox was badly overstuffed. Tiffany stood at the end of the walk. She felt a headache coming.

Tiffany forced herself forward, straight into a jog. She covered the distance in a few skipping strides and stopped. The headache was on. She was sure she saw a hint of motion in a curtain behind the shuttered windows. After several minutes, she took the last few steps, and after another pause, rang the doorbell.

It was some time before a door cracked open. An old woman's quavering voice said, "What do you want?"

Tiffany struggled to speak, and the door started to close before she said, "A friend of Tommy Wheeler sent me!" There was more silence. "Look, I don't know what this place is, I don't know who you are, I don't know why I'm here, I don't even know who wanted me to come! But someone wanted me here, so please don't shut that door!"

"I only know of one Tommy Wheeler," the old woman answered. "I met him once. He stopped to help me when my car broke down. He called a tow truck, and stayed with me to talk. Then a BMW broke him in half."

"Oh god…" Suddenly, the migraine was gone. "What did he talk about?"

"He said he was in the neighborhood, because he went to the mall to buy an anniversary gift for his wife. He was getting out his wallet to show me a picture, when..." After a pause, the old woman said, "Who are you?"

Tiffany wanted to pour out everything. A vision played before her of going inside, and spending all day telling this stranger about Tommy, and holding each other while they cried. In any movie, that would be the perfect happy ending- but then, life wasn't a movie.

"It doesn't matter," Tiffany said. "All that matters is that someone sent me here to give you a message. I think the message is, that Tommy was a wonderful, caring man. He always wanted to help people, and if he had known he would die helping you, he wouldn't have changed a thing. And he wouldn't want you to be sad, or angry, or hide from anything that's good just because of what happened to him."

"Go," the old woman said. Tiffany nodded and turned away. As she stepped down from the porch, she heard the words that were barely a whisper, "Thank you."

Then the door shut.

**This is what I envisioned as the end of Tiffany's story, and it's the kind of ending I like. Which should leave you readers/ innocent bystanders wondering, do I like leaving loose ends enough not to answer the BIG question?**


	10. The Open Ending

No house would have been big enough to hold Mary Jasmine's first birthday party. More than two hundred people gathered in a park, including a score of off-duty police officers and fifty Indian football fans, and there was not a one who was just as excited to celebrate the life of the mother and father.

Pat was happily telling Dr. Lily and Dr. Patel about the latest movie he and Tiffany had watched together. "The Maltese Ending is great. Bogie's great, Peter Lorre's great, and I thought the ending was great," he said. "I mean, when it turns out the Falcon's fake, it seems like a bad ending, because all those bad things happened for nothing. But that's really the lesson. They were so eager to get what they thought they wanted that they didn't think to make sure they knew what they were really after."

He put an arm around Tiffany. "Then that got me thinking, maybe there's a better kind of ending, only, you might need to tell the whole story differently to get there. Like, suppose it was Sam's girl who hired him, and he went along because he still had feelings for her, and he knows she came to him because she still feels the same. Then at the end, they realize that looking for the Falcon was just distracting them from what really matters, which is each other. So Bogie just throws the thing away, and they go off to talk, and maybe they get back together and maybe they don't, but the important thing is that they settle it, one way or another. Then here's what would make it really great: When they do that last shot of the Falcon, showing the lead where they cut up the resin, the camera zooms a little closer. Then you see that there's a nick in the lead, and under _that_, there's a bright, shiny jewel…"

Pat, Senior was holding his granddaughter in his lap when a burly, grizzly old cop sat down beside him. On introduction, the cop said, "Call me Jonny." After a pause, he said, "Beautiful baby girl."

"She got her mother's looks," the elder Pat said. "So, how about those Eagles…?"

After some jawing, Jonny said, "You know, not too long ago, we had a bit of a weird situation with Tiffy. A little over a year ago, she started coming by the station, which was great, except we could tell it was because something had got her upset. She kept asking if anyone had been talking about her first husband, Tommy, and she asked me about a couple things she seemed to think were really important. I didn't quite come out and say it, but there was nothin' there that _everybody_ doesn't know 'bout Tommy, including the rookies who never met him. Still, it was enough to get us asking around among ourselves, and it came out that there was a guy who_ had_ been asking about Tommy, mostly in the sports bars. From what we found out, he really was trying to get the right bits and pieces without leaving an impression. He was pretty good at it, too. He would go up to two or three of our guys at a time, talk a bit about the Eagles, then ask a question or just mention something that get them talking. The only thing anyone really remembered was that he was old, sixty at least, and he wore an Eagles hat from way back in the day. Our people noticed the hat because it was pretty worn out, and he kept it pulled down."

"You don't say," the elder Pat said.

"Then there was one more thing, which was actually what really got us wondering if something was going on. 'Bout six months ago, there was a report that Tommy's grave was vandalized. But as far as we could tell, all that really happened was that somebody came in after hours and burned some papers in front of his headstone."

"Huh," said Pat, Sr. "Did you get anything off the papers?"

"Well, the guy who found them said that some were hand-written, and some were typed, not with a computer but a real type writer," Jonny said. "Apparently, they fell apart while he was putting out the fire."

"I see," Pat said. "Just as well, I suppose. Probably just a couple people, looking for closure." He adjusted his cap. The logo was an eagle with spread wings, not the new profile of the head, and the edge of the bill was mostly frayed cardboard. "So, what do you think of the draft picks this year?..."

**Thanks to everyone for staying with me through this experiment. Feedback is welcome, and I would be especially interested in whether anyone guessed the ending(s) in advance. While I'm wrapping this up, I'll plug a few things for anybody who is interested in what I usually write: "Shoe Shopping" and "Thing Vs. Exotroopers", posted here at ; "Conversations With O'Cleary", a non-fiction piece I have posted in several places; and "Zed Fights A Girl!" on my "Exotroopers" blog, which represents a vignette for an all-original project idea that I felt jump-starting a bit while I was writing this story. Thanks again for reading!**


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